# The Mechanics of Polish Time Travel (Criticism wanted!)



## Shiny Grimer (Jul 21, 2008)

This was made for English Class - we were reading _Kindred_ and needed to write about time travel to another place. I remembered it a day ago - I want to twist it around a bit to have a story in this setting, but I wanted to know if there were any inconsistencies in the original writing. I couldn't find much abotu Poland in 1914, and I had to read through a convoluted history of Poland to even try to make some sense out of it. Most importantly, I wrote this at the same time that I wrote my NaNo, and it's rushed and not checked for consistency. I need to find those inconsistencies so that I can, you know, fix them when I want to write something else like this.

I'm sorry if my Polish sucks; it was taken from an online translator and if someone knows Polish, it'd be really nice of them to help me. :D Also, I don't have a title for this. This story actually has little to do with the mechanics of Polish Time Travel, but it is involved. It's finished but I won't be posting the whole thing here since I find parts of it to be pretty horrid (in fact I don't really like this day but w/e).

Sunday, November 22nd

	Today, I found the strangest thing: I woke up in another country. I do not know what happened. I was sleeping in my bed in Denver, Colorado when all of a sudden I find myself in this strange country. I do not know how I arrived here. I am not sure I can come back, either.

	I somehow woke up standing on a corner of a busy street filled with oddly dressed people. Everyone’s clothes were rather unsaturated and dull, but far more formal than what I saw normally on the streets: all the men were wearing suits and all the women ankle-length skirts as well as jackets. People were crowding onto the streets, where I was surprised to see relatively few cars. Considering the strange, foreign atmosphere, I dismissed the scenario as a dream. But something was nagging at me, something telling me that everything was not as it should have been.

	I was in the clothes I was wearing before I came here – a t-shirt and pants. I was clutching a mechanical pencil and a sketchbook; the result of a late night urge to draw.

	One thing I distinctly remember doing was asking a rather tall woman next to me where I was.

	“Nie rozumiem. Zapytać ktoś inny w Warszawa.”

	That was the moment I realized this was not a dream. She had spoken a language I had to struggle to bring back from the depths of my mind: Polish.

	I could make out her sentence as something like: I don’t understand; ask someone other in Warsaw. I couldn’t translate it properly; the shock of hearing someone speak in a completely different language in a completely different country temporarily numbed me.

	I tried to be courteous and say Thank You, but by the time I translated the words to bad Polish, the crowd had moved across the street. I moved with them, shocked, scared.

	Warsaw? Warsaw was in Poland. Poland was in Europe. Europe was VERY far away from the United States of America. How was I here? Why was I still here – if this was a dream, I would have woken up by now, wouldn’t I?

	I cried in that crowd. I recognized nobody, saw no familiar faces. Where were my parents? Why was this such a horrible dream? Questions that were never answered.

	I looked at the shops besides the sidewalk: a bakery, a little convenience store, one offering supplies for sale – and I knew this only from looking inside the stores.  It had been a long time since I had ever used the Polish language. I would be needing it now.

	Something that I suddenly realized I would be needing was money. I struggled to recall my Polish classes: the currency in Poland was the złoty. Pronounced zwati or something like that. Then there were rubles… I can’t remember. I would have to take up a job or find some way to gain money to live here. This was a strange Poland… there were so little cars on the street. That was suspicious: in the modern day, there are always cars on the street. Something’s not right.

	I can’t think about that now, though. I’m a thirteen year-old kid alone in Warsaw. Where will I stay, what will I eat, how can I get back home? These were questions swirling around in my mind at the time. I had no answers, though.

	Walking past a store that sold large, detailed wooden clocks, I stopped to see what time it was. 3:45 PM. I knew I slept late, but never past 12. Pressing my face against the windows, and holding on to the pencil and book, I scanned the room for something to tell me the day or something. I saw a calendar which rewarded me with very disturbing information:

	It was Sunday, November 22nd, 1914.

	1914.

	I had gone back…… 93 years.

	Tears started to escape their prison behind my eyes and slid down my face. Fear and panic started to grow inside me. I somehow woke up in Warsaw, Poland, on the 22nd of November in 1914. I was alone, far away from my home and my time. I don’t know what force brought me here, but I would have to do something to live here until I could somehow, someway, come home. I needed a place to stay.

	Immediately, I started racking my head for relatives that might live here, who might take me in. At the moment, nothing came to mind. I started thinking about why I bothered to learn Polish, someone in my family who lived in Poland, during this very age… no; it was two people. They worked with children... orphan children, was it?

	I passed more stores, going with groups of people. I needed a name, first or last, it didn’t matter. Maybe I could ask someone and they could tell me a name…

	I decided to go back to the shop selling finely detailed grandfather clocks, and I opened the door. The inside smelled of newly sawed wood.

	The shopkeeper was cleaning the counter. He was a short man with little hair and round glasses balanced on his ears. I approached him.

	“Sir…do you speak English?”

	He looked up. “Little.”

	I was slightly relieved. “Sir, do you know a family that owns an orphanage?”

	He seemed to struggle to understand my words.

	“What that last word was?”


	I tried to find a way to say it in Polish, but the very basics of the 
language were slipping from my mind.

	“Sierociniec,” I heard myself say, struggling with the pronunciation.

	“Ah, on the hill,” he said. “Maria and Henryk Irzykowski. Live on the hill. Sierociniec Polski. There,” he said, coming out of the shop and pointing. I followed him, and saw he was directing me to a large house on a hill.

	“Thank you very much, sir!”

	“Problems not.”

	I made my way through a crowd of people. Most of them were dressed humbly, some in rags. I often heard Russian and German tongues – were they supposed to be there? Russia did have control of Poland for a while…and I think Germany tried…?

	I noticed something at the moment that I did not before – it was cold. There was a chilly wind blowing, and the frigid air became ever colder. Poland wore the cold well.

	I found a small path leading up the house. I was hopeful. The house loomed ahead, an impressive structure compared to the small buildings I saw earlier. I knew I couldn’t expect much hospitality of luxury as I entered, but I expected a place to stay for just a little while…

	I opened the door and peeked inside. I saw beds – many beds. Children on the beds. A few adults tending to the children.

	Slowly, I made my way inside, scared of the atmosphere. It was very dark inside, and gloomy.

	“Hello?” I said meekly. Nobody responded. I made my way to a desk that I saw. I stood there, observing the house. There were many doors and halls.

	“Hello?” I repeated. A very tall woman approached the desk.

	“Guten label, hallo,” she asked hurriedly.

	“Please, I need a place to stay. Just for a few days,” I explained. She sighed.

	“Come with me.”

	I followed her to a corner of the very large room with beds. I saw children staring at me oddly.

	“Come. You may sleep here,” she said. “You work for your food. We all do.”

	The bed was a rickety old thing with a torn mattress and no sheets. Nevertheless, I got into it and curled myself up into a ball. I slept for a good long while after the shock of today.


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## Dragon_night (Jul 21, 2008)

Well, I have to say that I like this story. Right now I'm writing this after I read the whole thing (the stuff I point out later is while I was reading). 

I find you have a steady flow through the chapter, and only at one or two places did I find that flow was disturbed (I'll explain it once I start quoting). I can see you put in effort for this, and it does show. There are some mistakes though, most concerning that this is written in a journal or diary format, and not a story format. Although, your writing is pretty good, and I enjoyed reading. The concept of a boy travailing back almost a hundred years pretty much grabbed my attention. 

I don't relay have much else to say, critique wise, considering this is the first chapter, but I will stick around as you post more. Below is the stuff I found during the read, most of it criticism, and a mistake or two.



> Today, I found the strangest thing: I woke up in another country. I do not know what happened. I was sleeping in my bed in Denver, Colorado when all of a sudden I find myself in this strange country. I do not know how I arrived here. I am not sure I can come back, either.
> 
> I somehow woke up standing on a corner of a busy street filled with oddly dressed people. Everyone’s clothes were rather unsaturated and dull, but far more formal than what I saw normally on the streets: all the men were wearing suits and all the women ankle-length skirts as well as jackets. People were crowding onto the streets, where I was surprised to see relatively few cars. Considering the strange, foreign atmosphere, I dismissed the scenario as a dream. But something was nagging at me, something telling me that everything was not as it should have been.


This seems very much like the Man (I'm still reading it now, so I don't know his name) was writing a diary.  (That, and because you had the date up at the beginning) The two paragraphs I quoted seem very much like he _was_ writing in a diary. Although, there are parts like this:



> “Nie rozumiem. Zapytać ktoś inny w Warszawa.”


If he wasn't that great with the language, then how could he write it later without knowing what it means? Yes, someone said this to him, but if he's writing this in a diary, would he remember? And if he did, wouldn't he give a better translation inside the diary?



> Warsaw? Warsaw was in Poland. Poland was in Europe. Europe was VERY far away from the United States of America. How was I here? Why was I still here – if this was a dream, I would have woken up by now, wouldn’t I?
> 
> I cried in that crowd. I recognized nobody, saw no familiar faces. Where were my parents? Why was this such a horrible dream? Questions that were never answered.


When the questions start up, it seemed more like what he was thinking at that time, then what he would write in a diary. If you are trying to have the whole story in a diary kind of mood, then think how he would ask these types of questions when writing in the diary. Starting the questions off with something like, "So I asked myself questions, only now entering my mind *inserts the questions*" <- That kind of sounds like something a person would write, because if someone were to read his diary *Coughcoughme* then is would seem a bit strange to find these questions being asked, as though this was in complete first person, rather then a diary. 



> I knew I slept late, but never past 12


I can see how having the time in numbers is okay, but just having numbers for things like twelve, and those lower level numbers, inside of writing just looks awkward inside of reading. This is more of a personal preference, but I'd rather read out the number inside a sentence then just see the number.



> I can’t think about that now, though. I’m a thirteen year-old kid alone in Warsaw.


Okay, this one I'm a bit more neutral against, understanding that this is a diary. _But_ the way you introduced these sentences seemed off. Again, that would be how the kid would feel at the time it was happening, not at the time he would be writing this 'passage'. 

But again, I'm not too sure if I'm correct on this.



> I had gone back…… 93 years.


Again, the periods here seem unneeded, because that would be the feeling that he would have at the time of finding out the time, not the feeling he would have when writing this. Although, unless he was trying to write this to entertain people, then he would do that, but I doubt he would want to, or have the intention to at the time he wrote it.



> I tried to find a way to say it in Polish, but the very basics of the
> language were slipping from my mind.


Just pointing this out because you accidently pressed enter in the middle of this sentence. 



> “Problems not.”


Another thing I'm not too sure about. Would the boy write what the shop keeper said, as though he was writing a book? I can understand if it's a long conversation, then you wouldn't bother to say who's talking, but something like this, I would think that he would write "The Shopkeeper saluted with a "Problems not" or something similar. 



> Russia did have control of Poland for a while…and I think Germany tried…?


As I said before, the extra periods seem unneeded for a diary.



> Children on the beds. A few adults tending to the children.


These two sentences kind of disturbed the flow of writing you had going on. They sound a bit too choppy.

Well, hope to see more chapters,

Keep it up!


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## bobandbill (Jul 25, 2008)

Well, as I mentioned before, it's hard not to be attracted to a story about Poland if you happen to have a Polish heritage. :) 

Firstly, on the story itself-  it was interesting, although a few issues for me. Firstly I felt the reactions were a bit weak from the character - not as in 'omg its a crybaby!", but more that reactions seemed to be presented in a somewhat matter-of-factly way, IMO. More delicate handling of the such might be needed there, and some more reactions besides crying - let us feel the shock and surprise and whatnot. And every so often you moved away from it and then returned - as in, it didn't quite feel so conisitant, and protrayed the character as a bit of a robot. Bad experiance - display sadness - go do something else - more bad experiance - display sadness - find place to sleep - relieve current situation - display more sadness. It's like the character only responds to events on cue.

And I think some more shock, or a bit of a scene with the character thinking this can't be real or the such could have been warrented - some more disbelief. IMO he accepted the situation a bit too easily there for my liking.

Description was a bit liht as well - even without that much a knowledge of Poland in 1914, more research could have been done into it, and/or more description of places and the such. You gave us a faint idea, but only that - more vivad imagery, and remember to show, don't tell. That, and things that dragon night said as well. :)Basically, linger on various scenes some more, and focus on the smaller details of what things look like so we the reader also can visulize it, and also consider what your characters would do and how they would in greater detail, too.  

Otherwise not bad - interesting concept, and as I said, certainly interesting for me. :) I'm certainly intrigued.

Now for some Polish things. Well, I think you could have dwelt more on what things looked like as mentioned before - I've been not too long ago in 'Old Warsaw' - what a large part of the city was like before it got destoryed by the wars. They basically rebuilt it to how it was before as accurately as possible. 

A pity I'm really not that great at the written way of Polish - only do know how to talk to people with the basic stuff, really. And never had to ask someone to help me with my time-travel problems. ;)


> “Nie rozumiem. Zapytać ktoś inny w Warszawa.”


Well, if you would tell me what was meant to be said in the second sentence, so I can be sure what you are trying to say and see if it is correct. (And usually translators aren't that great - converting back to english via Google experimently returned 'Ask someone else in Warsaw', and then turning that into Polish returned 'Poproś kogoś innego w Warszawa'. Hmm... then it stays the same though.
The first sentence though - assuming you wanted her to say 'I don't understand' or anything along those lines - is correct. :)

And I'm afraid I don't know the world for 'orphanage' in Polish, sorry...



> I struggled to recall my Polish classes: the currency in Poland was the złoty. Pronounced zwati or something like that. Then there were *rubles*… I can’t remember.


Rubel methinks is the correct spelling, and a quick check seems to confirm it - but that was (after a quick check) the currency at the time your character gets transported back into. Yet, at that stage of the story your character doesn't know they are in 1914, and I would think groszy would be a term more likely learnt (for those who are curious - it is the equlivent of cents in the Polish currancy - e.g. 100 groszy = 1 zloty)

Well, hope I helped somewhat there. Good luck with the rest of the story!


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